The Fanning of the Flames
by ProbablyNotGoingToUpdate
Summary: Sequel to "Ripples in the Water". They tried to comfort him- thought they knew what he was feeling. Little did they know how much their words affected him. How could he even think about the future while the present opened the unhealed wounds of the past?
1. Chapter I: Rise and Fall

Okay, you asked for it! It's Sequel time...

To anyone who is reading this without its predecessor, you are encouraged to read "Ripples in the Water" first. I try to add in what might be unknown, but nevertheless it is highly recommended.

Before we get into this, I just have to warn you that you must not read this unless you are positively certain that you want to, and be warned that you are reading this at your own risk. I would put some sort of warning into this, but then we'd spoil the plot line! So if you come across something that you are startled by, you have one of two choices:

A) Freak out about it and stop reading, and never find out what happens.

B) Be brave and charge through the your startles, and you might like the ending.

Anyways, I hope you guys aren't _too_ startled. But some startling is what I aim for.

This is a work in progress, so I doubt that the updates will be as often as "Ripples in the Water". No, scratch that, these _will not_ be as often. I have some other stories that are in the works as well, and whatever I am in the mood for, I tend to write, so... you follow.

My DBZ Olympics story is in the works as well, but... I'm not entirely sure where it is. It's a little hard to work on it when I don't know where I am. So it's a little down on the 'to-do' list.

Otherwise, we pick up in the following fall of when "Ripples in the Water" ended...

Chapter I

* * *

The demi-Saiyan looked out of the window of the vehicle, watching the scenery move by slow enough to be in focus, but with enough speed that everything had limited importance. He looked up at the clear, cloudless blue sky with his head resting on his hand, which was being propped up by his elbow on the ledge of the window. The road was, at the moment, travelling through a wooded area, and the trees were already gaining a bright orange, yellow, or red tinge on their outermost leaves, while the inner counterparts still retained their green hue. Normally, they would have appeared to be very pretty to anyone looking at them, had they bothered to notice them at all. To him, however, the sight oddly made him think of the death of the trees- the discolouration in the leaves almost from the loss of circulation to those areas, so gradually that each leaf, a separate appendage, fell individually from its source of life, to wither and rot away on the barren ground- a very slow and agonizing process, not in the least bit pleasant or to be enjoyed by the trees or by the spectators. The young Saiyan watched countless trees go by, each enduring the same fate, and each giving him the same morbid thoughts. In truth, though, the thoughts were a nice change from what he was now accustomed to for the last few months.

The little vehicle suddenly entered a tunnel, allowing no further view of the forest or its dying trees. The attention of the quiet being was brought away from the outside world, to the interior of the car. He glanced at the person sitting next to him, in the driver's seat, but did not wait for the woman to return the look before he drew his gaze away. Her eyes were fixed intently on the road, her inexperienced driving evident by the tense expression that lined her face- although that could have simply been a product of something else.

_Of course it is. _The half-Saiyan thought.

The radio was playing mildly loud, but up until that moment neither person was paying attention to it, for mindless commercials were taking control of the airways- it was now like the programs were more of a break from the commercials, not commercial breaks from the programs. Finally, the ridiculous advertisements ceased and a clearly-articulating, monotonous male voice came on to break the momentary silence.

He began to talk about many "normal" news matters: the rising and falling state of the economy- making sure to emphasize the falling component- the political conflicts between opposing parties, and, above all, murders. Stabbings, beatings, shootings, and sometimes even homicides unique enough as to not be given a specific name, but rather the gruesomely in depth details of the execution. They were all listed every day- and the list never seemed to end. The most horrendous part of this was something that the young Saiyan, and so many other people, had realized: the murders were becoming to be a _part_ of normal life. It was not unheard of now for someone to be found dead in their own home simply because someone was "bored" and found excitement in the thought of ending another's life. Nobody thought this to be okay- in fact, most people were repulsed by the thought- but you would rarely see a person give a second thought to another dead body listed among so many others on the evening news.

_Every victim… they are just another photo flashed by, another name on a list, another statistic to their analyzing minds. They are not people, with families to care for, stories to tell, hardships endured, or feats accomplished. To them, they are just a part of a mathematical percentage. So many people are not only forgotten, but never even fully known to the public. It is impossible to honour an empty name._

It was true- any group that heard the news of 1000 dying in a mass murder, everyone would agree that "it's terrible", "unbelievable", "it's a tragedy", and that "something should be done", but there was never any true remorse behind the words. It was very rare that someone would actually be truly mortified by the news. The truth was obvious, but nevertheless unknown to the majority of people: humankind had become insensitive to the value of another's life- not only the murderers, but the indifferent bystanders that unthinkingly declared it "a shame" and continued with their lives. They had lost the value of human life, and could care less about the well being of others. There was only one person that mattered- themselves. It would be a rare occurrence to find anyone that even gave so much as a second thought to most other people, even their own family.

Suddenly, a change in the announcer's voice caught the attention of the twelve year-old. He found himself silently absorbed in the man's words, and attempted to swallow his uncomfortable, shaking breaths.

"...a shocking new development sociologists have uncovered was publicized today at a conference in East City. There has been an increase of 19% in deaths of children and youth in the past year, particularly in those aged eleven to seventeen. Further investigation into this development has shown that nearly 98% of this increase was caused by an increase in the number of suicides in this age range. Comparing this year to last year, the number of suicides for this age group has increased by nearly one-hundred and twenty percent. Sociologists studying this disturbing change are speculating that the media's negative focuses on might be partly responsible for this, but no conclusions have been made yet. Research is ongoing."

The newscaster moved on to another subject, and those present in the vehicle remained as silent as ever, but nevertheless the awkwardness that followed was unbearable. The involuntarily fidgeting adolescent grew frustrated at his own beating heart, for it seemed to pound ever louder, and he was almost positive that the woman beside him could hear it and his own discomfort. He did not dare to look at her at that moment, and remained hushed, pretending that he did not even take note of the message by gazing spaciously as was doing before. After what seemed like a fair time, he deemed it safe to take a glance beside him. However, the time elapsed was in reality much shorter, and his fleeting look was met by that of the woman, reflexively causing him to pull his gaze away immediately, almost as if he believed that she was not going to notice his look if he did.

He returned to his solitary thoughts, and eventually found himself contemplating why he so avoided the exploitation of his true feelings to his own mother. Then again, the relationship between the two was not exactly what you would hope for between a mother and son. Secrets and deception from both individuals did not build a trusting relationship. The actions that were done and- perhaps more importantly- almost done by the son were enough to cause any mother anxiety. She was trying to be subtle in her methods, but to her son the actions were completely obvious and revealed that she was aware of far too much.

Simply coming home for supper only to find his meal already cut into small, bite-sized portions was far from unnoticeable, as was sitting down at the table to see knives completely absent from the setting. Even afterwards, everywhere he went he could be positive that he was not alone- he was either directly accompanied by someone, usually his mother, or he could feel the presence of others close to him, but out of sight. He was never given any privacy, any time to be truly alone. He had lost that privilege. Nothing was said to him, either- supposedly these were simply actions taken with no motive behind them, but both the parent and child were aware of why such actions were taken.

The twelve-year old had tried to kill himself.

He could have done it- he could have ended everything, and made his life so much easier, but he did not. A talk with his life-long mentor had left him uncertain if he wanted to do so, if he was willing to let go of everything, to lose everything he worked for. He willingly passed up that opportunity, though he did not do so easily. Even now, he was starting to regret doing so- his life was far more difficult now that his mother was taking extra measures to ensure her son's "well-being". Nevertheless, he still was not sure if he wanted to end it all completely, but he was longing for some comfort. He was unable to find that comfort in the words or actions of others. He found consolation in his own actions- actions that gave him pain. Somehow the pain allowed his mind to break free of the normal train of thought that caused him so much misery.

He directed his gaze down at his arms, where he even now saw himself running his fingers along the forearm covered by a long sleeved, white dress shirt. A small twinge of tenderness came when his finger ran along the deep grooves that lay concealed beneath the thin material. Doing so had become a habit of his- and a bad one at that. There were going to be no more new scars to join the numerous ones that already existed, so now only by marring the ones that remained was he able to give himself relief- and it was not a very useful amount. Inflicting them upon himself, on the other hand, was so effective that for over a year he was able to continue on every day because of the relief it gave him.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid…_ came his thoughts, as he recalled that it was he himself who threw his dagger away, in a well-intended attempt to recover from his depression. Afterwards, that attempt felt so meagre and idiotic. Now that everyone was aware of his mindset, he was not trusted with the liberty of using knives, nor was he able to find a razor, pair of scissors, or even a key present in his house, all of them "mysteriously" vanishing from their normal places. While he was extremely offended by the action, he was guiltily aware of that, if they were present, he probably would have used them inappropriately, just as he was expected to do.

_But why shouldn't I be able to,_ he asked himself, _it is my life, why can I not be the one to decide how I live it?_

He gave a desolate sigh of uncertainty, catching his mother's attention immediately. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, and saw him doing the same thing. She remained silent, for neither had spoken since they started their trip. Anxiety filled her entire mind, as she saw her son bring his attention away from her as he looked out the window again, his left hand unconsciously trailing up and down his right arm. She could almost see the scars that littered both of the undersides of his forearms. At the moment, she was positive that her son was still very much considering suicide as an option to get away from all of the hardship he was enduring- and that if he was given the opportunity, he would even do so this moment. She had been trying so hard to protect him from himself, but she was unsure of how to actually _help_ him. She could not simply act as a restraint for his entire life- she needed to get him to see why his thoughts were wrong. If he never came to accept that, she was working for a lost cause.

She gave another glance to the half-Saiyan, only to see his eyes staring forwards blankly and unseeing, his attention clearly on his thoughts and not on what he was looking at. She did not like it when he was in deep thought- she was very paranoid now that he was contemplating on different depressing subjects. She would rather have him in the moment, perhaps even conversing a little, although she was lucky if he even said a word voluntarily. She hesitated before she acted, but saw the corner of his mouth begin to curl downwards in a mixture of annoyance and anger as his hands impulsively began to grasp tightly on his thighs. Her indecisiveness disappeared instantaneously as her eyes caught sight of this, replaced by a mother's impulse to look after her child.

"Gohan," she spoke firmly, pretending to not have taken her eyes off of the road. The young Saiyan's head's rose at the sound of his name, and he turned his attention to his mother, "How are you feeling?"

The Saiyan hesitated before he answered. His mother assumed out of uncertainty, but in reality he was resisting the temptation to say something sarcastic back. That had grown to be another bad habit of his- cruel sarcasm that he never used to possess.

_How do I feel about being abandoned in my life, left with pointless options and no help from anyone? Oh I feel just wonderful; never better, mother, _his mind immediately responded. He had enough self-control as to keep the comments internal, and gave his mother the answer she was expecting.

"I'm fine," and nothing more. He began to wonder if his lie was truly a lie if the question was not sincere either. He found it immeasurably hard to believe that his mother actually gave a second thought to his well being if she was willing to keep him in such obvious agony.

_She just wants me out of her hair but needs to keep her conscience clean_, chanted the well-practised thoughts, and part of him came to accept them. He knew that having to lead him around like a young child, protecting him from anything and everything was very tedious, and she was probably seeking an opportunity to dump him off onto someone else very soon. Part of him knew it was true, but nevertheless there was something else that told him he was false in saying this. It, in point of fact, did not _tell_ him that, but more was _wishing_ for her to not be thinking of him as a burden. It was a very juvenile desire- a desire to be loved and looked after, and he was very disgusted at how often he yearned for it. He did not want to be treated like a child any longer- he had experienced more horror, trauma and pain in twelve years of living than many people endure in their entire life. He was not aware of it, but he had lost his childhood far too early, and was thrust into his adult life before anyone was ever supposed to. Now, he was facing the consequences of this, for as he still experienced childish feelings, he felt they were as inappropriate for him as they would be for any adult. He was to be independent and strong, uncomplaining and tolerant, brave and selfless, and he could never, _ever_ show that he was frightened, or scared, or tired, or any other sign of weakness. He was not aware, though, that in order to achieve this unreasonable goal, he was not going to be able to be attached to anyone. If being completely detached was his final objective, then he was edging closer and closer to it with every passing moment.

"Um… Chi-chi?" A quiet voice asked from behind her. Simultaneously, her head and that of her son swivelled around to the origin of the voice, both of their attentions on the bald-headed, short being that sat behind them.

"Oh, it's you, Krillin. I forgot that you were here- you were so quiet." She responded, her hand on her chest to calm her momentarily fast heartbeat and heavy, rapid breaths.

"So were you two…" the hairless being responded under his breath, hushed enough to only receive a reaction in the form of an ear twitch from Gohan. He regained his lost courage, and continued, "Um, did you not just pass by Capsule Corp...?"

Chi-chi gave a quick glance to her right side, and momentarily returned her gaze ahead before her mind comprehended the sight of the passing building, when she gave another, more alarmed look.

"Oh my! You're right, Krillin! I almost missed it," She squeaked in surprise, deciding to perform a sudden, inelegant, and undoubtedly illegal u-turn. Everyone present in the vehicle was abruptly tossed to the far side by the centrifugal force, Chi-chi remaining upright because of her firm hold on the wheel, Gohan simply leaning slightly to the opposite side to keep his centre of balance, and Krillin about to do the same when he found a softly howling being hurled his way. Reflexively, he managed to catch it but found its weight added to his too much for him to take the turn stylishly. He ended up flat on his face, but faultlessly holding the infant upright, above his inverted body, in a manner like a pedestal. The child found some humour in this, as it began to chuckle lightly in a very prominent tone.

The sound found its way to the ears of the demi-Saiyan sitting with his arms crossed, and he clenched his teeth as he was reminded of the presence of the child. He closed his eyes as he attempted to block out the sickening noise, growing more and more irritated at it as his energy involuntarily began to rise. The little infant shut his mouth, and looked towards Gohan, which brought the attention of Krillin and Chi-chi to him as well. As the demi-Saiyan felt his ebony locks lift off of his forehead slightly, he realized his mistake, and let a slow, deep breath out to calm himself. He blinked open his eyes, and gave a wary glance sideways to confirm his suspicion that there were three pairs of eyes fixed upon him. He averted their gazes, and did not disturb the silence as the watchers one by one decided to look away. The rest of the short trip to the building was silent, not to anyone's surprise.

Looking out the window, Gohan saw their destination- the immensely familiar Capsule Corporation, home of Vegeta, the Saiyan Prince, Bulma, the scientific genius, and their (being Bulma's) family. The vehicle pulled into the driveway of the building, and everyone exited it wordlessly as Chi-chi struggled and- eventually- succeeded in returning the vehicle into its capsule form, with a bright _boom_ breaking the silence amongst the four people. This acted as a signal for their arrival, and an over-eager blue haired woman poked her head through the massive steel door of her laboratory, only to have the rest of her body follow as she recognized the guests and neatly walked up to great them.

"Hey there, everyone- I wasn't expecting you today. How have you been?" Bulma greeted very mildly. Her face was, by definition, considered happy, but compared to her normal overacting, shouting-across-the-room, speak-your-thoughts attitude, she was very reserved. She wore a large smile, but it was not her usual quirky grin. It was very formal, and her lips were very nearly twitching in an attempt to hold it. She only blinked her eyes once, then quickly began talking again, leaving her question unanswered, "How's the weather up by your way now, then?"

Chi-chi flashed a half-hearted smile, "It's been good, but getting chillier by the day. Yesterday I needed to pull out my jacket- I haven't touched that thing since winter!"

Bulma laughed lightly, though despite the fact that there was no humour in what was just said. It was the same mindless, pathetic chatter that Gohan was used to while they walked to the door of the main building, and he behaved in the same manner to this conversation as he usually did- keeping his depressed face down and mouth shut.

"...so, forgive me for asking Chi-chi, but why did you come here today? I didn't forget that we were meeting today, did I? I've been so busy working that I usually lose track of time," Bulma asked, before pausing and asking, "What day is it today, anyway?"

"No! You didn't forget anything. I just thought that maybe we should come over and pay you a visit. We haven't seen each other for a long time," the mother explained hastily, "… and today is the nineteenth."

Bulma hesitated, "...of what month?"

Chi-chi smiled and shook her head with eyes closed in amusement of her closest friend.

"September."

l-*-*-*-l

"Vegeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeta!" A sharp voice rang out through the large, empty-feeling building. The only response the woman got was a grunt that vaguely resembling an acceptance of her call, but that was all she needed to continue on, "Come out here, we have guests!"

"What? Why on Earth would I come out for more of your imbecile visitors? I'm busy now!" He retorted fiercely from the lower levels of the dome-shaped structure, his growling voice carrying up to the upper lounge area of the Brief's house in the centre of the Capsule Corporation.

Bulma began to fume slightly, but quickly found the words for her to answer with, "Why? If you don't get up here, you can forget about training Trunks for a week, that's why!"

There was silence, and then a soft mumble of defeat followed by the slow, disgruntled sound of feet falling upon marble stairs, each one becoming slightly louder until the irritated Saiyan Prince entered the room.

"Who could it be that is so important as to interrupt my sleep?" Vegeta saw the company after he asked the question, and found his eyes settling upon the half-Saiyan garbed in the unusually formal attire, with his hair combed and covered in glossy gel in an attempt to get it to behave normally, even though now it was beginning to defy this demand and return to its typical style of wandering freely. He stood at the further corner of the room, hands folded ahead of him as he gazed lightly to the floor from his position of leaning against the wall, lifting his head only to acknowledge the arrival of the eldest of the Saiyans. The two held their gaze wordlessly until their attention was brought to a small yawn originating from the child half-asleep in Chi-chi's arms. Vegeta raised an eyebrow at the sight of the defenceless child, surprise hidden behind his stubborn façade. He turned to the blue-haired woman and glared at her in his usual manner of communicating, deeming words unfit for the question that was far too obvious. She simply rolled her eyes at this, insolently answering the unasked inquiry.

"Chi-chi, unless you were so extremely ill-bred as to not notice, was _preg-nan-t_." She sounded out the syllables of the last word to emphasize her point, "and gave birth to another boy. This is just a little news-flash for you, considering this happened, oh I don't know, how long Chi-chi? Four months ago?"

_Four months, one week, two days and eleven hours._

"…so maybe it's good that you are getting yourself out a little more often!"

Vegeta did not even flinch, "You seem to be forgetting that I am not the only one who seemed to be unaware of someone's pregnancy. At least it wasn't _my_ mother."

Bulma's face nearly fell to the floor, while Krillin and Chi-chi both took a second glance to Gohan, whose gaze was still fixed upon the floor. A quick, unnoticeable glance upwards revealed to him that now they all were waiting for a response from him, and they each managed to notice him routinely stroking his arms. Some of them knew what that meant, and immediately diverted their gaze away from him.

Gohan released a small scoff, and the sarcastic thoughts whipped through his mind. However, something involuntary interrupted the thoughts before he could even complete them.

_Oh, just p-_

**Perfect.**

Gohan gasped for air soundlessly as he recoiled backwards a step, his head being tossed to the left almost as if he was punched in the face. Oxygen seemed to evade him for several weak moments as his lungs felt like they were being compressed into oblivion. His vision turned grey and blurred as his head lightened, causing him to almost lose consciousness. Had this been the first time the demons of his past returned to haunt him, he probably would have. Instead, though, he caught himself before he fell backwards and regained his balance, shaking his head a little to bring his mind out of the obscure haze it was settling into far too naturally.

As he came around, the first thing that crossed his mind was not the actual occurrence of the incident, but whether or not anyone else had managed to notice it. As he hastily looked around, he saw that Chi-chi, Vegeta, Bulma and Krillin had miraculously failed to detect it, but the infant in his mother's arms was fixated upon the sight of Gohan, simply staring at him with his tiny black pupils that were dilating faintly, as if the sight of his brother was too much for his tiny eyes to take in all at once.

He sat down on the closest chair to help relieve his light head, and blinked several times in an attempt to stop the room from spinning for any longer. He had learned from experience that this proved to be very effective, because this episodic event was far from a surprise to him.

_Turns out, remembering several years' worth of wretchedness in the span of a few seconds comes with some side effects. _

The abrupt re-telling of his life had almost seared the most painful of those moments into his subconscious, with the simplest and most everyday images or words causing a part of the memories to resurface and replay on cue. At first, it seemed to occur very rarely, because everyone who was around the troubled demi-Saiyan was extremely careful with what they said or did, because they didn't want to disturb him any more than necessary. After the days and weeks past, though, they seemed to get the impression that they could be a little less careful, because there were numerous more mentions of Goku, along with equal numbers of the same sequence for Gohan.

The pit of his chest would erupt in a paralysing shock-wave that came from the recurring recognition of a cruel reality, followed by a small portion of what little hope he had regained in the past days or weeks being torn from him and an obligatory session of self-hatred and a reminder of his failure. Even though the instigation could be prompted from polar opposite events, the same experience preceded.

As far as the half-Saiyan could tell, there were two different episodes for two different initiations: first being the one that would follow after any mention of Goku- either directly or indirectly- or one that would follow after any reference of Cell or his tournament. Unfortunately for him, the latter could be triggered by something as common as the trite word "Perfect" or- even worse- "Perfection". Gohan was pretty unbiased when he had to choose between one of the two options: the heart-jolting and unforgiving reminder of what he had done to his father, or the unrepressed and unstoppable torture of what he had endured through at the hands of the aforesaid sadistic creature.

_The first is far worse, but… I am better able to hide it from everyone else. Tears mean nothing to them now._

A bitter truth, but it remained the truth nonetheless. He had lost count of the number of times he was at the mercy of that inevitable condition where he was unable to stop his shaking body and overflowing eyes, and there never seemed to be anyone who dared draw near him. Again, his opinion was torn two in this matter. Part of him begged to be held, comforted, and supported through his emotional turmoil. The other half, though, held a complete revulsion at the thought.

When the two opinions were brought together, the result was the classification of how Gohan's thoughts always felt- mind-numbingly contradicting, and besieged by confusion from over-thinking the simplest matters. Between the two opinions that the young Saiyan held, there was at least one thing that they held the same mind on- there would be markedly fewer headaches if the adolescent mind was reduced to just one set of thoughts. The problem was, there was no agreeing on which mindset was to be kept.

Gohan awoke from his reminiscence just in time to hear the tail end of another one of Vegeta's comments.

"…but I know that my father wouldn't have given a second thought to abandoning me. Still, I was partially responsible for his death, so I wouldn't say we were on the best of terms."

Chi-chi raised a hand to her mouth as Krillin took an opportune time to locate the washroom. Gohan flinched significantly, but withheld the sob that he choked on in his throat, feeling the very same sensation he was recalling only moments before, courtesy of the world's pitiless irony.

"Vegeta!" Bulma growled more than spoke, "A word with you, if you would!"

She dragged him to a neighbouring room and shut the door behind her, hushing her voice so that the other people could not hear their conversation.

"What is up with you, Vegeta? What do you think you are doing, saying stuff like that? Do you have any idea what sort of impact your words could have on Gohan?"

Vegeta huffed with his eyes closed, a cruel smile plastered across his face, "I know very well what I am doing by saying it. I don't know about here, but in _my_ half of the universe suicide is not something we celebrate. He needs to be reminded of that."

"As it turns out, we do _not_ act cruelly to those who are going through mental… confusion on Earth. We attempt to help those who are troubled! It would be nice if you tried it once!" The Saiyan Prince shook his head, never faltering in his smirk.

"Poor little boy. He managed to surpass us all in power, speed and fighting skill, killed that waste-of-an-android Cell, and got off with nothing more than a few broken bones. Let's all throw him a pity party."

"You know very well that he was hurt to more of an extent than simply a few broken bones! His father _died_. You know that he blamed himself for it, too!" Bulma kept her voice at a whisper, but she still managed to show her fury in a hushed shout.

"Why shouldn't he? It was his fault that Cell was able to blow himself up and Kakarot had to go and play hero for us. That's the one thing he's got right. I bet you even now, the imbecile is still staring at the ground, calling himself 'stupid' over and over in his head."

"That doesn't mean that we treat him like… like…" Bulma failed to find a word that accurately described how Vegeta treated the half-Saiyan, so settled for implying what she meant, "…_that_!"

"Humph. You sure are dense." Vegeta went on to explain, crossing his arms while curling his mouth into a frown, "It's not the fact that he was the cause of Kakarot's death that makes him filth. It's because he takes so much self-hatred out of it that he thinks he can go and off himself. There are few worse deaths for a Saiyan that are more dishonourable then by their own hand. But then again, the stupid child doesn't even know how to do that right."

Bulma was about to retort back, before Vegeta's head turned slightly to the direction of the door, his acute Saiyan hearing catching something she had missed. His notorious smirk gradually returned to his face, as he turned to Bulma and said matter-of-factly, "Oh, and turns out the little half-breed could hear us."

* * *

So there it is. Let's hope for some longer chapters this story, eh? Thoughts, comments, and advice are always welcome. Most importantly, though, enjoy reading!

Remember: Courage is the magic that turns dreams into reality.


	2. Chapter II: A Beautiful Mind

I hope all of you are all back with me in the sequel here! It's time for the ball to get rolling, or some proverb like that. I really like how my writing is improving- especially my ability to transition from scene to scene, er, better. Not the greatest yet.

A word of caution- there is going to be some mathematical, scientific mumbo-jumbo, completely made up by me, and therefore, not going to make any true sense. I tried to make the formula as realistic as possible, but you'll soon see why I found that difficult.

Since Fanficition does not support sub and superscripts, I had to write the formula out manually. Here is a little guide, if you really want to try and make sense of my creation:

^ = to the power of/superscript. The Pythagorean Theorum would be written as a^2 + b^2 = c^2

_ = subscript. The formula for water would be written as H_2 O

Anyways, please enjoy reading.

Chapter II

* * *

Gohan was not positive why he left the room- he was more driven by an urge to do so by part of himself. Of course, this urge also came with a corresponding thought from the other half that proclaimed his cowardice for running from such a meaningless statement. He should not care that Vegeta was being so cruel to him. He should be, in fact, welcoming the change from the extra-sensitivity that he was being suffocated with. He should be.

Problem was, he wasn't.

So, in accordance to his taciturn actions, he left the room without a word and without a second look to anyone else in an extremely hasty break for the exterior door. The door was left open behind him as it swung side to side from the outside air currents with a slightly audible squeaking noise. His indecisive mind raced to find an appropriate location to go towards, and was immediately drawn to the closest uninhabited, dark building he could find- the temporarily abandoned laboratory workshop that Bulma found to be a home-away-from-home. The Saiyan quickly strode up to its gloomy door, and tested the handle to confirm his suspicions of it being left unlocked. Bulma was pitifully trusting of those who came to the Capsule Corporation.

He soundlessly slipped through the door, not opening it up any more than he had to, and entered into the partial darkness with no idea with what he was even doing. He only needed a second to pull the answer from his mind.

_I am here to not be there._

Simple enough. His eyes adjusted to the dimmer lighting of his surroundings, and calmly drew in the sight of massive heaps of papers, mechanical parts, and tools that piled up in the outwardly large workspace. To a stranger, the sight would have been shocking at the immensity and intensity of the work, but Gohan knew well enough that this was a normal workload for the world of Bulma Briefs. He had visited her numerous times in his life, and each time she had started taking on more and more ambitious tasks. A strum of curiosity echoed in his mind, as his overly-studied brain began to dream up ideas at what the new mother could possibly be working on now. By the way she had lost track of the day and- reportedly- month, the project must have been demanding. He gave in a little to this rare interest, and began to subtly look about the papers and read their contents as well as context.

At first glance, the calculations on the papers seemed to simply being testing the properties of certain objects, for there were piles of formulas that were determining the malleability, density, aerodynamic value, mass, and similar things about numerous substances ranging from high-grade steel to pure gold to household cotton. Directly adjacent to these piles of papers were samples of each material in question with small, identical notches carved out of each one for testing. It appeared that all of the substances had been crossed off at one point in testing or another, depending on what criteria it failed to meet, sometimes with a hasty point scribbled next to it, ranging from _'too dense' _to _'not enough ductility'_. It was obvious she was looking for a medium that could meet all of her specifications for whatever it was she was trying to make, with little success.

Turning his attention to another of the work benches that lined the room, Gohan saw strange formulas that were obviously of Bulma's own invention, for he had never seen the strange arrangements of certain variables before, and many of them made little sense.

_Why would you use the velocity of an object travelling at a… a __**negative**__ speed in relation to its magnification through a diverging lens to determine its mass? Why would you want to know that? Bulma must be slightly over her head here- she keeps coming up with a mass of zero. Then… she's using the measure of angles formed in… something… to determine a… negative square root? She must be really bemused…_

He continued looking at the equations, each with crazier situations and even crazier answers, sometimes using symbols and properties that Gohan was positive were not public knowledge- Bulma had perhaps discovered some new ones of her own. Looking over to another wall where a periodic table hung crookedly, he saw that in striking red pen, there were corrections made to the universally known chart, as well as some areas where the scientific genius had even added in completely new elements. "Impossible" did not seem to have any connotation to Bulma.

The intelligent half-Saiyan continued to flip through the papers, attempting to find the last piece of information that would complete the puzzle, and he would be able to establish _what _exactly Bulma was trying to make. He eventually came across that last crucial piece, but did not even notice it at first glance because it was the only formula that actually seemed reasonable and he knew to be true:

_E=mc^__2_.

He flipped by it without even thinking what its context was, for his mind was turning and thinking at such a rapid pace that it took several moments before the sight of the legendary formula logged into his mind. His eyes drew wide as he flipped back numerous pages to the half-ripped sheet of paper, as he realised what Bulma was trying to do. Energy equals mass times the speed of light squared: the simple statement had no context on its own, but the lines below it did.

_E/m = c^__2_

√ _(E/m) = c_

√ _(E/m)^__t__ = c^__t_

_t___o_ log _√ (E/m) = t _log _c_

_(_log_√[E/m]) / (_log _c) = t / t___o_

That new addition to the formula was unmistakeable- _t_. Time. Bulma was trying to recreate what her future counterpart had already accomplished. She was going to make a machine that could alter the flow of time for a specific object or- more practically- for a specific person. She was making a time machine.

Gohan's eyes darted across the page. The calculations all lined up perfectly. If the speed of light was amplified in relation to the time elapsed, than the flow of time would be sped up by an equal amount. To accomplish this, the energy produced in relation to the mass of the substance must also be exponentially large. That was what Bulma was trying to do with all of the other eccentric formulae and properties of substances- finding a way to increase the energy output for an object, and finding a material that was suitable for doing such a thing. But there could be no material that she found to meet everything that she needed- Gohan remembered seeing each of the options crossed off while he was looking through the pile of papers. Nevertheless, he was only glancing through those- maybe she had found one that was suitable.

Silently, he returned to the pages filled with elemental symbols and other slightly random equations. He flipped through them, looking to find one that was not scarred with the large red pen mark that slashed through it to declare it unusable. He was nearing the bottom of the massive stack, and his slightly lifted hopes were deflating much more quickly than it took to raise them. His search was brought to an abrupt halt, though, when a slight vibration met his eardrums- the sound of a far-off person calling out to him.

"Gohan!" Came the woman's voice, despite her yelling it from across the yard, but since it was closer to a park than a yard, the voice seemed nearly a whisper. But with that, he could hear that the voice was drawing closer with short steps against the stone walkway, only one logical destination for the person to be heading towards: the building he was in.

Impulse drove the demi-Saiyan to hide from view, so he immediately dove beneath the nearest desk, not realizing that he was adding to the mess of the building by knocking further papers across the already littered floor. He held his breath as he heard the door open and not one, but two pairs of footsteps enter the darkened room.

"What's this Bulma?" The first female voice stated, immediately recognized by the young teen as his mother.

"This is my workshop. Sorry it's kind of messy- neatness isn't my priority when I'm working." Bulma apologized. Gohan heard the rustling of paper above of him, with a few extra pages falling off the desk, several of them landing in his wake and on top of him. He was careful not to budge, because he knew that the sheets would rustle if there was the slightest movement.

"I was meaning what you were working on Bulma, for you to be wrapped up in your work so much as to lose track of time," Chi-chi added. Bulma did not say anything, but the half-Saiyan could almost hear her nod her head in response. There was an obnoxious sound of clicking heels across the floor as the blue-haired scientist drew to the far side of the large room. There was the obvious sound of the jangle of keys, along with a large metallic creak of a door. Gohan was slightly surprised- he never knew Bulma to lock anything.

_She must be putting a lot of money into this project. It's either that, or she was able to get the machine working enough that she thinks someone will use it by mistake..._

"This is what I'm working on..." Bulma explained, almost undoubtedly handing something to the other mother. Her voice was almost tentative, as if she was ashamed of her hidden work. There was a long period of silence, which Gohan was blaming on his mother's lack of mechanical knowledge. He had seen her struggle to understand some of the simplest machines that he had studied when he was younger. She gave it one look, attempted to comprehend her son's long-winded explanation, and then shook her head, stating, 'I'll leave it to you.'

"Wow Bulma... it looks like you put a lot of work into... whatever it is." Chi-chi did not help the opinion that the half-Saiyan had of her. Bulma attempted to explain what it was, starting off with the 'simple' description of the properties of light and passage of time. Gohan was nearly shaking his head in pity of the scene that was playing out above him. He had begun to wonder where in his family he inherited his seemingly effortless ability to understand things. It certainly did not come from his mother's side: neither she nor her giant of a father possessed the ability to learn quickly; they had difficulty to learn anything at all. His mind wandered slightly, and came to question whether or not anything from his Saiyan side could have been the origin of the intelligence.

Bad decision- he was immediately brought to the thoughts of his father, his happy-go-lucky, innocent personality that seemed to fit so well with his childish lack of knowledge. A ricochet of emotional pain rang through his body, his head consequentially snapping upwards and knocking against the underside of the desk. While this action caused him enough head trauma as to prevent the normal progression of mental torture that usually followed, it also caused a sound that would not go unnoticed by the two Earthling women in the room.

"What was that?"

Gohan heard the clunk of something on the wooden desk and the sound of feet moving across the floor, and more papers were showering around him. One page in particular fell directly on his face so he was forced to hastily pull it off so he could come up with a plan on how to escape the capture. But when he saw the red pen on this page, he realized that this time it was not used to cross off anything, but instead circled two letters:

Hg.

"Is that you Gohan?"

The demi-Saiyan already had a plan to put into action. He pushed himself up along the desk's back and slowly inched himself to the opposite direction that Chi-chi and Bulma were heading in. Sneaking around the corner just as Chi-chi and Bulma bent down to an empty floor, Gohan slowly extended his knees to peer onto the top of the table, where he saw a small device that held a high resemblance to a watch. He snatched it quickly, and looped it onto his right wrist without even thinking. After a hasty return to the floor, looked at the tiny machine and saw the rounded, blood red equivalent of the 'dial' bend slightly with his touch. It was painfully cold to the touch- well below freezing point- but nevertheless it seemed to almost be a liquid. This confirmed his suspicions that the machine was made out of mercury. A small hole along the edge of the dial immediately grasped his attention, but he had little time to think through his actions before he saw two pairs of legs before him.

Before they had a chance to kneel down, he raised his left hand to the device, bringing a small amount of energy to the tip of his index finger. He attempted to concentrate it to a smaller amount, because at the moment, the yellow glow had enough energy to completely disintegrate the machine, but knew he had no time. But that was what he needed- time. A different time. Any time was better than now.

"Gohan!" Chi-chi and Bulma's faces came into view, but not alone. Gohan- just before releasing the energy- saw that Bulma was also holding her son. Innocent blue eyes, untainted with the horrors of battle, peered through short lilac hairs. Gohan let his attention falter slightly, and as the miniscule energy left his fingers, it managed to contort its hue to the same flickering blue that peered up at him.

The minute azure ball seamlessly slipped into the tiny opening in the watch-like machine, and vanished for no less than a second before the mercury turned to a blistering hot temperature. It immediately lost what little solidness it possessed, and melted across the young Saiyan's wrist. Gohan winced as he felt its toxic corrosiveness gnaw away at his skin, but he saw a blessing in the agony.

The three faces that were frozen in time ahead of him began to rotate clockwise, slowly at first but gaining momentum until the entire view became an obscure blur that spiralled away from existence. The acidic sensation writhed up his arm, across his shoulders, until the searing pain was all his body could comprehend. He was sure this feeling was causing his vision to blur in and out of focus, but he was not able to tell in the black void that was undoubtedly churning around him. Suddenly, he was able to sense a familiar power level and reached out with his less charred left arm in the vacuity to grab onto the signal, letting his hand grasp something solid. With the feeling of something in his hand, the mass of blackness stopped the swirling and the Capsule Corporation workshop focused ahead of him.

He kneeled exactly where he had before, except there was no sign of the people that used to occupy it. Instead, his hand clenched onto the bridge of a pointed nose, right below two extremely baffled blue eyes- the same blue eyes that he had seen only moments before, but lacking of their innocence. These eyes were filled with the memories of the battles and wars that they had witnessed, fit for someone far older than the face that Gohan now looked upon. He anxiously withdrew his hand from their pincer-clutch on the tanned nose as he timidly concealed his arms behind his back. The lavender haired teenager opened his mouth to say something, but the words he searched for seemed to evade him.

"Uh... hello Trunks. H-how are you?"

l-*-*-*-l

Bulma and Chi-chi were staring at nothing. They looked at the tiled floor, but no Gohan was there, only a small puddle of the acidic mercury compound. The younger Trunks tugged at his mother's hair and pointed at the emptiness, also unable to find words so he settled for making noises of confusion. Chi-chi raised a shaking hand and briefly touched the fluid on the ground, but immediately flinched away as she sampled its acerbic ability to sting her hand. She slowly turned her head to face Bulma, complete shock woven onto her already wrinkled face. Bulma gave a fake laugh out of discomfort.

"Well, hah ha. What do you know? It works! Hah ha hah." She looked down at what remained of her project and pressed her face into a small frown. She did not think before she spoke again, though she severely regretted doing so, "Too bad it's only a one-way trip."

A small thud filled the silent room as Chi-chi's fainted form hit the floor.

l-*-*-*-l

"Gohan." Trunks said, not in a question as was normally expected, but in a simple statement, "What are you doing here?"

Trunks extended his arm to the other half-Saiyan, and helped him upright so that they were standing face-to-face. Immediately, the future version of Vegeta's son noticed how much Gohan had changed since he had last seen him. He looked almost the same physically: same build, same hairstyle, even the same lip-biting habit he had seen demonstrated only on the rare occasion that he was apprehensive about saying something.

_'Why is he nervous about telling me why he's here...?'_

Otherwise, Gohan was completely different. He had grown nearly half a foot since Trunks had last seen him- it was overpoweringly obvious now, when they were facing each other like this. Gohan only had to tilt his head up slightly in order to meet his gaze, although now he was avoiding doing so. Another thing that was shockingly different was what Trunks failed to find- that smile that Gohan used to wear so naturally. His face was completely deprived of it, replaced by the synthetic smile that was as transparent as a window, with the far too realistic frown shining through the falseness. There was something else too, something less obvious, but present nonetheless. Trunks didn't know how to describe it. Since from the day he first met this younger version of his mentor, he knew that he did not possess the usual innocence that someone of his age was supposed to have- his own version of Gohan was the same way. But now, there was something added to that aura of corrupted childhood. It was not clear to him what it was, but he had a feeling that it would reveal itself to him in time.

"Well… um… Trunks… it's kind of like…" Gohan was not doing a very good job at hiding his trepidation of why he so suddenly arrived in another occasion and timeline. He stalled, choosing his words carefully, before continuing, "Bulma was trying to create a time machine of her own, and well- I tried it out for her. It works, but… um… it doesn't look like it's a round trip. Heh heh heh."

It wasn't a complete lie, at least.

"Al…alright then."

Trunks did not believe a word of it. Trunks knew Gohan was a terrible liar- but this was a nearly _believable_ lie. For him to improve so much in the art of deceit would take much trial and error, as well as a substantial amount of practise.

_'Why would he lie to me? What could he have to lie about? What else would he lie about? How he's changed…'_

_Argh… I doubt he is going buy that… I hesitated far too obviously. Why did I do that? I normally am able to pass off a lie without a second thought, why not now?_

Neither seemed to realize that they were simply looking at each other, deep in thought and both bringing up no response to the other's statement. They both knew that the lies were said, and both knew that the other was aware of it as well, but neither came to verbally acknowledge it. Both became two separate clouds of contemplation, wordlessly mulling over the situation at hand and speculating what the other was going to say next, and deciding actions based on their theories. Gohan was attempting to think out ways to not get on the subject of his anxiety at home, while Trunks was trying to come up with a plan to make the younger reveal more. What neither of them counted on, though, was that they both would await the other to speak first.

Several slow moments of wary and falsely warm glances between the two ensued, which would have continued for an uncertain amount of time if it were not for a loud clattering that echoed painfully through the hollow room. Two hybrids turned in unison, watching in slight shock of the odd thing that danced from side to side in the opening of the door. It took a moment until they realized what the steel and paper pile was- or rather, who it was.

"Mom!" Trunks stepped forwards first, grabbing a portion of the steel parts that filled her invisible hands, several pages lined with tiny printed numbers falling in the process. It afterwards occurred to Gohan that he should do so as well, as he grabbed a portion of the load from the aging woman. With her arms lightened, she breathed a sigh of relief and shook her head to remove the scrap of paper that stuck in her hair. She was just beginning her thanks to the boys when her eyes met the sight of someone she did not expect to see. Her words reflected on this, as for a moment her throat only made a small knotted noise of disbelief. She turned to Trunks, almost as if she questioned Gohan's existence and thought it safer to ask someone she was positive existed.

"Trunks, is that...?" She pointed loutishly at the blinking teen. Trunks was tempted to do the same, but instead replied with barely a sentence.

"It's Gohan."

She gave him a look that was no less surprised, as she had absolutely no idea how the long dead Gohan could be alive, and several years younger at that. Piccolo was dead, and therefore Kami as well, so there was no way that he could have been wished back to life. If they had a new guardian, though, the Dragon Balls could be brought back into existence. But the only thing capable of being a guardian was a Namekian, and all of Earth's usable ships had long since been destroyed, and it was never necessary to rebuild them since the Androids arrived. Did Trunks build a spaceship while she wasn't around? No, even if he did, he couldn't have gone to Namek and back in a day. Or had it been only a day? She took a quick glance at her watch- it had definitely been only one day since she had seen him last. Maybe Trunks had perfected Goku's old technique of travelling from one place to another in a split second- instant transmission. That would make sense.

Bulma pounded a fist in the palm of her other hand. "Aha! Trunks, you must've mastered the instantaneous transmission technique!"

Trunks and Gohan looked at each other with equal bafflement.

"What are you talking about, mom?"

"Well how _else_ would you get to Namek and back in such a short amount of time?" She responded as if the answer was obvious.

"Namek? Gohan wasn't on Namek," Trunks couldn't help but state. Bulma nearly shook her head in disappointment.

"Of course he wasn't, you went to Namek to get another guardian so that we could get another set of Dragon Balls, so that you could wish Gohan back!" She glanced back to the noiresque Saiyan, tilting her head slightly, "...and, uh, I guess you made him young...er."

Trunks proceeded to question what Bulma was even talking about, with the scientist attempting to show her assumption-based reasoning. Gohan was not listening, thoughts instead on his situation.

_They... they don't know. They don't have to know. I can go out alone- I can do things without anybody asking questions. I can do _anything_. I can avoid the mistakes that I made before. Things could get better- if Trunks and Bulma don't find out, I can do the things that I wasn't able to do in the present..._

Gohan heard a random comment from Trunks, "This is why you are a scientist, not a philosopher."

Bulma did not respond, silently accepting a small defeat. For no apparent reason, Gohan felt his throat tighten at this- not in fear of talking, though. He forgot what it was his body wanted to do, so he could not comply with its demand. Instead, the thoughts continued with a renewed optimism.

_...or I guess it is the past now. I can'__t go back there now... I`ll never be free again then. But then it only remains that I have to come up with a reason as to why I can'__t go back... wait a second, what am I thinking? I already have one._

Trunks had somehow just finished explaining to Bulma that this was the same Gohan that he had met on his journey to the past, but just a little older, obviously because time passed in his timeline as well.

"...all that remains as a question, then, is how you got here- er- now in the first place," Bulma stepped up to Gohan and prodded at him slightly in curiosity. Gohan had to resist the urge to slap her hand away- he knew that it was a far from friendly action. Nevertheless, that knowledge did not prevent the temptation from staying with him. The bright blue hair of the woman continued to wiggle as her prodding turned to a full-on inspection, face now serious and voice matching, "How old are you?"

"Uh, I'm thirteen... er, twelve. Whichever, I guess."

Bulma stopped her prodding for a moment to raise an eyebrow at the half-Saiyan. Trunks took it upon himself to explain the situation.

"It's because of the room that we went into to train for the Androids. We spend a year in it, but only a day passes by in the real world. I am seventeen, eighteen if you count the year in the time chamber."

Bulma nodded- not happily but in satisfaction of the response- and continued to inspect the Saiyan for no apparent reason. She asked him several questions- some of which personal, others extremely simplistic and with no actual pretention to him, such as "spell 'village', forwards and backwards", or "what is twelve minus eleven plus one?"

After much interrogation, she finished and seemed to be satisfied, and sighed.

"Now that's good. You seem to be in okay health- not the best, but decent."

Gohan glanced up at the other half-Saiyan, who was apparently lost just as much as his younger counterpart.

"Time travel is not a perfected art. Our bodies and minds are not built for traveling between different times. I wanted to make sure that you didn't need any immediate hospitalization or anything. Looks I even outdo myself sometimes," Bulma smirked with pride, admiring herself perhaps a bit too much for Trunks' taste.

"Right then, so are we done pestering Gohan?"

Gohan sure hoped so.

"Hmm... well, if you wouldn't mind, I'd still like to do some more tests on you. There might be some other things that I missed. I'm not much of a doctor out of the examination room."

Apprehension shot through Gohan. He knew that a full-body examination would reveal more than he cared to put on the table. But it wasn't as if he could refuse- what would that suggest? The situations never seemed to work in his favour. But the only chance he could have was to play it as it went.

"Alright Bulma," his voice was sullen as they took long strides out of the warehouse-like workshop.

Suddenly, a stroke of genius hit Gohan abruptly.

_Not all hope is lost. _

Wherever it was that he got his intelligence, he sure was glad that he had it.

"Hey Gohan, are you alright?" Trunks shook the boy's arm, a wince of pain of more than one sort filling his body. With several blinks and roll of his neck, the younger Saiyan nodded.

"Yeah. I think I'm going to be okay."

* * *

I was going to end it with Chi-chi fainting, but then saw my word count and thought _that's far too short._

Speaking of thoughts, Trunks thoughts are surrounded by apostophes in order to distinguish from Gohan's thoughts. I hope that this serves as enough of a key for you.

I must warn you not to take any part of my time-travel formula as being true- aside from the theory of relativity, of course. Don't go and think "Yay! I get to see me ten years from now!" or anything silly like that. Seriously. Don't go and make a thesis on it, or a rocketship, or something of the like.

Now, before I go, I've got to ask you a question that you can answer in addition to your always welcome comments- what was your first thoughts when you saw Future (Mirai) Trunks in this story? Let's be honest. I'm intrigued.

Remember: _'It is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it.'_


End file.
